Disclaimer: I do not own X-men Evolution
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"I have memories, most of us do. Some are bad, most are good. Good and bad, black and white. I believe in neither - I believe in shades of grey. Memories are immortal, as long as you live and your memory is held and passed on through others, you can never die. With these comforting thoughts I have decided to play a game. Not an ordinary game but one where my opponent is death itself"
He stood at the edge of a cliff. It was a long drop to the raging waves below. His back throbbed, it had caused him pain for as long as he could remember
and it made him feel heavy. His blue eyes blinked and he closed them for a brief moment, letting his blond hair flutter into his face and allowing each
strand to be controlled by the wind.
He opened his eyes again and took a step forward, looking over the edge of the cliff and pondering with vague amusement if it was even possible to survive such a fall. It was an icy day and it provoked him into hugging his long coat closer.
Blue eyes watered up and he started to reflect on things that had past. His family loved him or, at least, they pitied him. The doctors, that he'd come to know a lot about, had tried to ease the pain. His girlfriends hadn't understood why he was fine one day and in pain the next - he didn't understand either.
A mutant gene, it was later discovered, was causing it.
"Show yourself." He whispered to the wind in reference to the true nature of his mutation. No one else could hear his words. The wind drowned them like the ocean would probably drown him.
But no one was around. Even if his words weren't drowned by the wind, no one would hear them.
At the word 'mutation' his family relationships had changed from pity into uncertainty and so, even his own mother had become suspicious of him.
To Warren there was no change.
In the life style that he had led, up to this age of seventeen, he'd done nothing unbecoming. Being a member of an incredibly wealthy family, he'd followed the rules but his own blood had not.
Stretching his arms out, "I can't live like this!" and he leaned forward slightly, eyes blind to the world. Perhaps they always would be.
His back had been screaming out sparks of pain for days and, as weak as it was, Warren was done suffering.
His body tipped gracefully off the edge of the cliff. Head first he headed to his doom.
Funny-it was a word he'd used a lot after that day. It was at the point of trying to commit suicide that he'd felt the most pain, the most regret.
Most people who attempt suicide regret it but some never live to say so-Warren had discovered on that day.
But he was lucky.
The white sparks of pain tore from his back. Yet his body refused to let him easily slip into darkness.
Then he'd panicked. The pain was gone swiftly after the worst he'd ever felt.
Now he'd changed his mind.
Death moved its chess piece and left the stadium.
Wings of white feathers, a weight lifted from his soul, burst through and fought along side Warrens complicated wish to live.
The wings embraced the loud wind and caught it in its angelic appearance. When Warren opened his eyes he was flying, although technically-gliding.
Finally, gaining control of his shock, he flew in a loop and landed back on the cliff. His wings folded and he leaned down making a vow as he did, "I will live, I will ease the suffering of others as my guardian angel must have eased mine."
He stood up, his coat long since being swallowed by the waves, and took to the skies.
The word "Angel" having more meaning than a being with white wings, stood for hope, for the will to live and for memories.
Memories, whether good or bad, make us, change us and can make us better people. In order to gain memories it is our duty to live to our full potential. Our actions not only affect other people's lives, but our own too.
Warren Worthington III flew through his city, a city full of suffering. And with determination he knew that it was his duty to repay the fates that had saved his life, this day, by showing other people that life did not just consist of pain.
He'd be a guardian angel to the people.
For the first time in his seventeen-year-old life, Warren Worthington III had a purpose- to make other peoples lives just that vital bit better.
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Author: A dedication to our loyal Alsation, Megan-you gave me some of the best memories that i have ever been fortunate enough to possess and we will never forget you.
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"I have memories, most of us do. Some are bad, most are good. Good and bad, black and white. I believe in neither - I believe in shades of grey. Memories are immortal, as long as you live and your memory is held and passed on through others, you can never die. With these comforting thoughts I have decided to play a game. Not an ordinary game but one where my opponent is death itself"
He stood at the edge of a cliff. It was a long drop to the raging waves below. His back throbbed, it had caused him pain for as long as he could remember
and it made him feel heavy. His blue eyes blinked and he closed them for a brief moment, letting his blond hair flutter into his face and allowing each
strand to be controlled by the wind.
He opened his eyes again and took a step forward, looking over the edge of the cliff and pondering with vague amusement if it was even possible to survive such a fall. It was an icy day and it provoked him into hugging his long coat closer.
Blue eyes watered up and he started to reflect on things that had past. His family loved him or, at least, they pitied him. The doctors, that he'd come to know a lot about, had tried to ease the pain. His girlfriends hadn't understood why he was fine one day and in pain the next - he didn't understand either.
A mutant gene, it was later discovered, was causing it.
"Show yourself." He whispered to the wind in reference to the true nature of his mutation. No one else could hear his words. The wind drowned them like the ocean would probably drown him.
But no one was around. Even if his words weren't drowned by the wind, no one would hear them.
At the word 'mutation' his family relationships had changed from pity into uncertainty and so, even his own mother had become suspicious of him.
To Warren there was no change.
In the life style that he had led, up to this age of seventeen, he'd done nothing unbecoming. Being a member of an incredibly wealthy family, he'd followed the rules but his own blood had not.
Stretching his arms out, "I can't live like this!" and he leaned forward slightly, eyes blind to the world. Perhaps they always would be.
His back had been screaming out sparks of pain for days and, as weak as it was, Warren was done suffering.
His body tipped gracefully off the edge of the cliff. Head first he headed to his doom.
Funny-it was a word he'd used a lot after that day. It was at the point of trying to commit suicide that he'd felt the most pain, the most regret.
Most people who attempt suicide regret it but some never live to say so-Warren had discovered on that day.
But he was lucky.
The white sparks of pain tore from his back. Yet his body refused to let him easily slip into darkness.
Then he'd panicked. The pain was gone swiftly after the worst he'd ever felt.
Now he'd changed his mind.
Death moved its chess piece and left the stadium.
Wings of white feathers, a weight lifted from his soul, burst through and fought along side Warrens complicated wish to live.
The wings embraced the loud wind and caught it in its angelic appearance. When Warren opened his eyes he was flying, although technically-gliding.
Finally, gaining control of his shock, he flew in a loop and landed back on the cliff. His wings folded and he leaned down making a vow as he did, "I will live, I will ease the suffering of others as my guardian angel must have eased mine."
He stood up, his coat long since being swallowed by the waves, and took to the skies.
The word "Angel" having more meaning than a being with white wings, stood for hope, for the will to live and for memories.
Memories, whether good or bad, make us, change us and can make us better people. In order to gain memories it is our duty to live to our full potential. Our actions not only affect other people's lives, but our own too.
Warren Worthington III flew through his city, a city full of suffering. And with determination he knew that it was his duty to repay the fates that had saved his life, this day, by showing other people that life did not just consist of pain.
He'd be a guardian angel to the people.
For the first time in his seventeen-year-old life, Warren Worthington III had a purpose- to make other peoples lives just that vital bit better.
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Author: A dedication to our loyal Alsation, Megan-you gave me some of the best memories that i have ever been fortunate enough to possess and we will never forget you.